They Fought
by NShadows
Summary: A companion to Sometimes she dreamed......
1. Default Chapter

DISCLAIMER: If I owned the Buffy or Angel franchises, I wouldn't be sitting in front of a computer writing fanfics such as these.  
  
Quick Author's Note: In my opinion, 'Sometimes she dreamed..' was way better than this, but I just couldn't let it end yet.  
  
  
  
Spike stood, looking down at the grave he'd spent years trying to find. So long.  
  
Just another name in a graveyard, long forgotten, or so said the weeds that grew around her tombstone.  
  
He hadn't expected her own family to abandon her. But then again, he was sure that they hadn't gone out of the way to ever be with her, either. He heard the way they had talked about her at the funeral. "Crazy aunt, thought she was a witch, thought she was special." Her own children weren't any better, saying to their mother's lawyer that they were just there to make sure they got what they deserved. Spike could give them what they deserved. She had loved them, and yes, passed them a gift, a gift they fought to control like it was a curse. They were never able to see past that, to see the love she gave, the sacrifices she made as only a mother could.  
  
He looked to the west, the sky was still a dark blue from the setting sun. He had risked the end of daylight to get here in time. He wasn't sure how long it would take to dig up her coffin.  
  
To make matters worse, he mused to himself as he worked, the family had sent her body off to be buried in a another country. But in a way, he supposed it did make sense. They didn't want to bother with people noticing that they buried her proper, or maybe sending her away was the easiest way to be rid of her, and all she represented.  
  
And they had picked the best country of all. It was the only time he'd ever heard anyone in her family sound caring, was when he'd asked her niece where she was. No one else would have given him the time of day, or night. But she had smiled sadly and spoken quietly. "She told me once, she found peace there, so it just made sense, you know, to let her have peace there, one last time." The niece had been the only one that cried at her death, and he could forgive her for not visiting, since she schooled on the other side of the world.  
  
He paused and wiped some dirt from his eye.  
  
"Hey! What's going on here?" A young English-tilted voice yelled.  
  
He looked up at a teenage girl peering down at him, and if he had been able to breathe, his breath would have caught.  
  
"Hey, I asked what you thought you were doing. Get the Hell out of there."  
  
He stopped staring long enough to lift himself from the hole and brushed at himself self-consciously. Then he looked back up at her, and grinned, unable to help himself. The family resemblance was unmistakable. He did the math in his head. "You're her grand-daughter, I guess."  
  
The girl did a double take herself as the moonlight gave away his features. "My god."  
  
More grinning. "So she told you, I guess."  
  
"I thought it was one of her dreams, when she said you came to see her. I thought she was remembering something. I thought you were dead."  
  
"You knew about her dreams?" He was surprised. He didn't remember ever seeing her visit before.  
  
"Yeah, she used to tell us about them when we were little. Our parents stopped letting us go see her when they found out." She had stepped closer, her blonde hair lifting slightly in the wind. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Taking her home. Why are you here? I thought you all lived in America."  
  
"You thought-Never mind, I won't ask. No, I'm here to visit my fiancé. And I had a dream that her grave was being tampered with, so I came out here. What do you mean, taking her home?"  
  
"I made her a promise that I'd keep all of the Scoobies together. And then your parents brought her here. It took me a little bit to find her by the way."  
  
"You're the one Tara talked to?"  
  
"Tara?"  
  
"My cousin."  
  
He almost laughed. He hadn't ever asked the girl her name. He wondered if she'd been named after. But no, Willow's in-laws wouldn't have named their child after the witch's ex-lover. Still, it was a grand coincidence.  
  
"What are you grinning at?"  
  
"Nothing. Hey, if you're just here visiting, how'd you get the accent?"  
  
She hesitated a long moment, then sighed. "My parents sent me here when I was little. I'm a witch."  
  
If she had expected a gasp or exclamation of surprise, she didn't get it. Instead, he just nodded. "So they sent you to Watcher, figures. Your family is real big on the abandoning thing, huh?"  
  
"They didn't abandon me, they had no choice."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Mister Giles told me that because they never learned to harness or control their powers or whatever they wouldn't be able to help me control mine. I didn't have a choice of whether or not to use them. It just came naturally to use them to steal candy. Then I blew up a armchair when I was five, and a week later, I was here."  
  
He smiled. "What's your name, pet?"  
  
"My parents named me Jessica, but I changed it, when I got here, to Morgan."  
  
"Oh, like myths do you?"  
  
"A little, and Mister Giles called me that, said I looked like a painting of her or something, from one of his books."  
  
"You look like your grandmother." He looked at her again.  
  
The girl smiled, and swept her hair behind her ear. "Do you still go by Spike?"  
  
"Yes, every now and then. How much do you know, Morgana?"  
  
"Morgana? Never mind, I like it. Well, it was hard not to notice what happened in Sunnydale. And coming to live with Mister Giles didn't exactly make it subtle. Too many late-night conferences and phone calls from the Council. We went back to Sunnydale a few times, I got to see everyone, I heard the stories. Most graveyards don't have people strolling about with wooden stakes, crosses and things."  
  
"And she told you about her dreams."  
  
"Yeah. And even without them, I knew. I saw you, once or twice. I figured I dreamt it. And my sister and I used to follow Dawn when she went out at night, even thought she was old, she fought."  
  
"She wasn't the Slayer."  
  
"No, but she felt like she owed it to her to try to help with the population of little nasties."  
  
"Owed it? To who?"  
  
"Her sister, you, all of them. She was a good fighter."  
  
"They all were."  
  
"So you're the only one left?"  
  
"Yes, didn't you know?"  
  
"No. I lost touch a few years after Mister Giles died. I was writing to Buffy and Angel for a while, but then she died, and he just stopped writing." She smiled. "You know, I always knew you were, but somehow, you're still the one that wasn't real."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"I mean. Angel, I got that. He became good because he got a soul. He helps people because he wants to feel better about himself. But you? You tried to kill my grandmother and her friends for years, and then you became one of them. I don't understand why."  
  
"You mean they never told you?"  
  
"All I ever knew of you until Grandmother was the killing part, and that you left after the Slayer died. But that you kept in touch, you were a protector or something. Then she told me about you being good, and getting a soul, and the helping them. But why? What happened?"  
  
"Simple, really, I fell in love. And I've been paying for it ever since. You mind if I work while we talk, I'm on a schedule."  
  
She shrugged and he jumped back in the hole. "If you fell in love, why leave? And how, and who? You're the missing piece, don't you get it? I read about you, about everything that happened to them, to you. The chip, the soul, but no one ever said anything about love. I understand everything that I've read, but it isn't enough. I want to know it all, the things that no Watcher or chronicle can ever record."  
  
He looked up at her, surprised at her passion. "Why?"  
  
"Because I want to know where I come from. Yeah, I was born in Sunnydale, and I've seen it a thousand times, but I've never understood how you could all keep fighting, why you all kept fighting."  
  
"You in training to be a Watcher?" He joked.  
  
"Yes, actually. And don't get me wrong, I know what it means, and I talked to Mister Giles, and that Wesley chap for hours, days, about the things they went through. But I don't need that, I need to talk to someone who was the fighter. And you're the only one that can help me with that."  
  
Spike straightened, a feeling nagging at him. "You said you dreamed about me being here?"  
  
She hesitated, the kiss of death, then nodded.  
  
He smiled at her. "You haven't been asleep just yet, unless you go to bed smelling like that."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
Dirt, and blood, a fight, and he hadn't noticed until a moment ago, the scent of blood, not human though. And not to mention, her hair was up too nice, and the sun hadn't set but a little bit ago, so asleep his arse. "Nothing. Why are you here, Morgana?"  
  
"Because you knew them, because I need to know them, to know who I am, because I am what I am because of them, because of you. I need to know how to fight, how to teach her to fight. Why to fight."  
  
He nodded, and went back to work, not knowing what else to do. He heard her walk away, and was, for a moment, worried she'd left. But then she was back, and she jumped into the hole, holding another shovel. They worked together, in silence. Spike smiled at her gratefully just once.  
  
They hit wood, and climbed out of the hole, and she stood watching, as Spike brought in a contraption of wood and metal and rope to lift the casket into the back of a hearse. The windows of the vehicle weren't covered, and she asked him about them. He smiled. "I travel at night." Short sentences, trying to figure out what else to say.  
  
"Oh. Listen, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you about any of it. I know it was hard, sometimes, to think of it. I remember that with Mister Giles."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah, he was upset after the first few of you died. Wouldn't talk about it." She sighed, and scuffed her foot on the ground. "You were his kids."  
  
"Them, not me." He closed the back door of the hearse, and gave her a long look. "I'm not sure I'm the one to help you, pet."  
  
"Can't you tell me anything that might help?"  
  
He frowned, then gestured towards the car. "You know why I did this? Came halfway around the world for a woman that's dead?"  
  
"Because you made a promise."  
  
"That's part of it, yeah. We were a team, you see, we stuck together, we fought together, lived together, loved one another in our own ways." His voice broke and he took a moment, then continued. "It's who we were. We did it because of love, I guess. Not just the love between the group of us, although that kept us going more than anything. No, it was usually the love we had for the world, though it never even knew us. Does any of it make sense?"  
  
"Kind of. But I'm not sure it's enough. I need you to tell me about them, about your adventures, about the feelings, the fears. That's what she'll understand, what I can teach her." She hesitated. "Were you ever afraid?"  
  
"No," he said honestly. At her skeptical look he smiled. "If there was ever a time I should have been afraid, I was too busy being terrified or fighting to notice." He chuckled. "Or I just ignored it, hoped it would get better with time."  
  
"Did it?"  
  
"Not usually." He glanced east. "I have a few miles to cover before sunrise."  
  
"Why Sunnydale? I mean, of all the places they could have picked for their bodies to spend eternity, why Sunnydale?"  
  
"Where else? That's the only place that was ever home to any of them. No matter how far they traveled, or for how long, it was always Sunnydale they were thinking of."  
  
"Because they were afraid of the demons overrunning it?"  
  
"I don't know, you have to remember, if they had really hated living in the shadows all those years, they would have left and not looked back. I think they wanted to protect it forever, and maybe they thought this was the way to do it."  
  
She just nodded, and without words they said good bye, he stepping into his hearse, looking back at her as he started the engine. "Don't have a death wish, pet. You're the Watcher, remember? Sometimes, it just takes experience."  
  
"Is that what you suggest, experience?"  
  
He shrugged. "I don't know, but it took her years to be what she was."  
  
"The Slayer?"  
  
"Yes, but really, all of them. What I suggest is that you visit Sunnydale sometime, get to know your roots as more than just roots."  
  
He drove away without another word between them. 


	2. It's who they were

Sunnydale hadn't changed..  
  
He mused to himself three days later as he patted down the dirt on the Hellmouth's newest grave. He glanced around, hearing the sounds of the night creatures, human and otherwise. Tomorrow would be a busy night as he hunted, he was sure. But tonight.  
  
He turned as she approached, less surprised to see her than he thought he would be. "Didn't think I'd see you around here anytime soon."  
  
"You're not the only one." Morgan wrapped her arms around herself. "It doesn't feel normal here."  
  
"It's the Hellmouth, not Lake Serenity." He smiled. "Why are you here?"  
  
"Came to give a blessing, protection prayer, you know. I posted her obituary in the local paper yesterday when I got here, and I've been waiting, looking around."  
  
"It's Sunnydale, not a vacation spot."  
  
"There were a few places I wanted to see, never got to when I was under Mister Giles' watch."  
  
"Yeah, can't imagine he let you run wild around here."  
  
They stood in silence for several moments, staring down at the new grave. "Yeah, so, you gonna be here for a while?"  
  
"A few lifetimes. I live here, now." He smiled, remembering words from a lifetime ago. "Always been here." He shook his head, coming back to the present. "Sorry."  
  
"For what? Never mind, I'm gonna be here a few days, look around, take your advice, get to know this place."  
  
"Before you ask, you can find me at the motel on the outside of town, until I can make other arrangements."  
  
"Got it, so I'm going to bed, see you tomorrow."  
  
"Night." She nodded once, and faded into the night. He watched her go, and sighed, unsure what to do. He didn't know what she wanted from him, from his memories. He shook his head, and listened for sounds of any little nasties. Finally, he smiled. Time to hunt.  
  
The next morning dawned bright, and Spike checked the curtains on his window one last time before falling into the bed. He sighed, content, and was just about asleep when the knocking began. He sat up, swearing, and stumbled to the door. "Who's it?"  
  
"Morgan, I need to show you something."  
  
"Give me a minute." He unlocked the door, and backed into the shadows. "Come in."  
  
She did, closing the door quickly behind her, not giving him a chance to even speak before she shoved a newspaper into his hand. "Look."  
  
He frowned at the obituary pages, reading after a moment Red's. "It's nice, pet, but you told me about it, yesterday."  
  
"You mean you didn't write it?"  
  
"What?"  
  
She sighed, and pointed to a box of printing below the obituaries. "The poem, you didn't write it?"  
  
Spike frowned. "No." He began to read.  
  
Together Again  
  
As we walked through life's light they minded the shadows.  
  
They protected us from what we could never, might never understand.  
  
A beautiful huntress, at first unsure, but then the leader willing to die,  
  
The funny sincere boy that grew into the man that fought at her side.  
  
The shy beautiful brain, who changed, whom fought against herself, and with them against the shadows.  
  
A fallen shadow of heaven that hovered too near the light, tortured by what he could never have.  
  
The father, the teacher, the protector, and the friend, standing by them until the end.  
  
And over time, their numbers grew, and faded again, as time did it's dance around them.  
  
The bitch queen, who became the kind one.  
  
The Burning Shadow that loved Her and fought himself, that sacrificed for Her.  
  
The light that was so young, and who fought without fear, never one of us, never one of them, but always alive, keeping us alive.  
  
Then there were them, the shy one, the quiet one, the fighter, the ones that moved on before we even knew they were there.  
  
More shadows came, and they fought on.  
  
We saw them only from the corner of out eyes,  
  
We never knew, but at the same time, we always did.  
  
In the shadows forever themselves.  
  
We know we live because they were just too stubborn to let us go.  
  
Too stubborn to let go of each other.  
  
To our heroes, together again, forever, we live on, and we remember.  
  
When Spike was done, he was shocked he wasn't crying. "It's good," he whispered.  
  
"You didn't write it." A slow smile spread across her face. "Wow. Be ready at sunset, okay?"  
  
"For what?"  
  
"You'll see, I have a feeling what I saw was just the beginning."  
  
Before he could question her further she was gone. He looked down at the poem again and sighed, then folded it carefully and slipped it into his duffel bag before falling back onto the bed.  
  
She was there before sunset, running in and waking him, telling him to hurry and get ready, then gone again. He took a shower, then dressed and waited until no light was left in the sky. When he opened his door she was there waiting with her car.  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"It's impossible to describe. I think they started it last night, someone must have seen you there."  
  
"What started?"  
  
"You'll see."  
  
They stopped a block from the cemetery, and began towards the graves. Spike stopped, and sniffed the air, then cursed. "Fire!" He hissed, and took off running, seeing brightness flickering near the graves. He rounded the corner, slipping from his duster to use it to beat out any flames, and froze, staring.  
  
Morgan caught up with him a moment later, breathing heavily. "See?" Seeing his shock she grinned. "There wasn't nearly this much this morning, and I've seen people coming and going all day. I heard them building it this afternoon."  
  
Around the graves of his old friends someone had built a rod-iron fence, tall and old, and gorgeous, and above the gate was welded a frame of metal which held words he at first didn't recognize. "It's Latin," he whispered after a moment.  
  
"'Protectors and Heroes, but firstly friends.' Rough translation of course," Morgan said, her smile only growing.  
  
"My God," he whispered, his eyes gazing over the fence at the graves, where lay candles, flowers, pictures, notes. "Who were they?"  
  
"I don't know. They weren't all old enough to even have known them. But there were a lot, some came in wheelchairs, and some were children. I guess I'm not the only one that ever heard stories growing up."  
  
Spike opened the gate and too a step forward, then stopped, held back by an invisible barrier. "How--?"  
  
"That was me. I didn't want any vampires or anything nasty getting in and vandalizing this place. You have to be human, or invited."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Of course." She hurried into the gate, and smiled at him. "Come in, William."  
  
Spike hesitated, then nodded and entered, stopping just inside and laughing through the sudden tears that had sprung to his eyes.  
  
"Are you alright?"  
  
"Yeah, Morgana, I'm fine." He walked to each grave, stopping for a moment, then continuing to the next. Finally he stopped, not at the most recent, but at an older one. "New headstones?"  
  
"I don't know who did that. Aren't they beautiful?"  
  
On each headstone was a decoration of vines and flowers, and Latin words. He looked back over each of them to connect the words into a sentence. "You are gone, but we have not forgotten. Fight on, and so will we."  
  
"I thought no one knew."  
  
"It's Sunndydale. First thing I learned here, nothing is what it seems." He crouched in front of the headstone, and brushed across the name on it with his fingertips gently. "They taught me that. I thought it was gonna be easy to come in here and kill her, them. This was gonna be my town." He cocked his head to the side suddenly. "They left all the girls maiden names. That's nice." He sighed and resumed his story. "It wasn't ever easy though, not from the start. I saw the fire in her eyes, and the fight in her friends. I knew they weren't going to just let me go. So I ran later, thinking I could leave them, my first true challenge, and it haunted me. Last thing I expected was for them to take me in a few years later, let me be a minor Scooby, though it was for the Bit's benefit, I know, at first."  
  
"The chip? And falling in love? The soul?"  
  
"In that order." He grinned at her. "Don't know how it happened, pretty sure I was obsessed with her from the beginning, bloody hell, I know I was. Didn't expect my fantasies of killing her to change into-" He stopped, grinning. "Well, it was just unexpected. But I wasn't nearly worthy of her, told me so herself, so I went searching for what he had that made her love him, the spark."  
  
"You're the burning one the poem mentioned?"  
  
"Yes, I guess whoever wrote only saw me then, when I was still new to it. Angel was already used to it and he could control it. It did burn me, tore me to pieces, burned them too, and then it'd get quiet and it'd all start again." He shook his head. "Not me you want to hear about though, it's them."  
  
She said nothing, and he looked over in time to see her brush a tear away.  
  
"Well, I'll give a quick lesson first. To let you know, your Slayer will never be her. You want her to be even half as good, you surround her with people that were as good as them."  
  
"An ex-demon demonized again? Vampires that actually care? A best friend that tried to destroy the world?"  
  
"Best thing you can give her. It'll teach her what's worth fighting for. Teach her it's not about the world, because she won't understand that. Teach her it's about them, the ones she cares about. Forget the world, too big a scale. Let her worry about her friends first, protect them, then someday, she can advance."  
  
"If it doesn't drive her mad, it'll teach her the world is fucked up."  
  
"Like she won't learn that on her own? Sorry, pet, but I lived a century before I came here, and they're the only ones I ever fought for. Slayers that don't care about the people they're saving won't care about the people they let down if they fail."  
  
"That's the problem," he muttered. "They cared too much." He kissed his fingertips, drawing them across the headstones name once, then stood, and looked around him.  
  
"It's just who they were. Hell, they couldn't even turn away if they wanted to, not that they ever really did, like I said, they cared too much, and damn, they drug me in too. Can't explain it better than that. It's just who they were."  
  
"Fate's a bitch."  
  
"Fate had nothing to do with it, no prophecy, nothing could have kept them from trying to save what they knew. Hell, they fought gods, Morgana. Fate wasn't a problem for them."  
  
"Wow." She said when he had been silent several moments. "If that's how all the lessons go, I wish I had your passion in telling it. Probably scare her into believing."  
  
"Believing isn't the problem, it's what comes after the believing. It's usually in the order of denial, fury, acceptance, rebellion, then ass- kicking of the bad guys."  
  
Morgana chuckled. "Did you always talk this much?"  
  
Spike looked back at her and smiled. "I guess I can tell you a little about them now, I know what to say. This is why they fought. Not for the glory they've gotten, but so the people that have done this would still be here. This is just a bonus of saving the world every now and then." He gestured around him, then took a step back and bowed. "To you, my friends. I'll be back."  
  
He looked back at her, then walked out of the fence. "Hunting time, pet, sure you wanna tag-along?"  
  
Morgan smiled at him in answer, keeping up with his long stride. "I know why they fought."  
  
"So you've got your answers?" Spike asked as he looked around, then broke off a tree branch and broke it in two, handing her a piece. In the distance they could hear struggling and small yelps of terror.  
  
"To some questions. But I do want to know them, to know how they lived." She followed him, to her credit, not looking afraid.  
  
Spike frowned, wondering how he was gonna start that story, the story of their lives. As he was about to speak they turned a corner to see three vampires holding a limp girl in their arms as a boy the girls age fought at them in vain. They were playing with him. Spike sighed, and looked back at her as they started towards the vamps. "Well, love, how do I put this?" He looked back at the vampires. "They lived the same way everyone else does, they fought." The vampires saw them now, and were looking at them warily, as Spike smiled. 


End file.
